Abandoned
by S. A. Morley
Summary: It is no lie that times never last; not even the good ones. Quarter-less days passed as he watched RoadBlasters consume change by the dollar, and as gamers flocked to the new console... but they left him in the shadows. Anger at his replacement festered inside of him. Turbo WOULD remain the greatest racer ever, even if that meant shoving aside Arcade regulations to keep his title.
1. The Rude Awakening

**Hello, everyone! Yes, I realize that I said I wouldn't be uploading anything until my book was completed, but I never counted on _Wreck-It Ralph_ coming out, so... here I am. Heh, heh... Anyway!**

**_Wreck-It Ralph _was AMAZING! I was very impressed with Disney's work – I can't think about anything else, I swear. I absolutely loved its characters, the plot, the artistry of the environments, the music... everything! _Wreck-It Ralph_ was the best movie I've seen and ever _will_ see, I can honestly say. It was an instant favorite. So, if you haven't been fortunate enough to go out and see it, I heartily encourage you to. It was INCREDIBLE.**

**So incredible was the movie that I just had to write something about it. I couldn't help myself the moment they introduced the villain, Turbo. Oh. My. Gosh. He did SO many things to me all at the same time he made my head spin! He simultaneously terrified me, inspired me, made me giddy, delved me into his thoughts, and awed me on so many levels. Turbo is the greatest villain of all time, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Believe me!**

**Regarding that, I decided to write this story about him! _Abandoned _features Turbo's backstory prior to the movie – kind of an inside look as to what lead to his becoming of character. I understand this has probably been done before up and down the site, but here's my take on it. Hope you enjoy. :)**

**I researched A LOT so it could be as accurate as it could be, and I tried really hard to capture his attitude as a self-obsessed kind of guy hungering for attention wherever he could get it from. I hope it worked out.**

**Now, before you read on, let me address that I DO NOT OWN _ANY_ CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY. THEY ALL BELONG TO DISNEY – NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT IS INTENDED ON MY PART. Also, the artwork I used in the cover belongs to the amazing artists Dezzoi (awesome), Professor Pemzini (awesome), and Disney (awesome), so I own none of it. I just put it together.**

**I am very proud to present this! So, without further ado, please enjoy chapter one of _Abandoned..._**

* * *

Let me set this straight: when it comes to racing, there's nobody better than me.

I'm Turbo! It's in my name! my code! Don't you _ever_ forget that!

But if you by some chance happen to let that fact slip your mind, then I'll give you a reminding... from underneath my tires. After you get a good lick of my rubber, I'd like to see you doubt _my_ name.

So, you wanna race, chump?

Am I goin' too fast for ya? Rightly so. I'm the fastest there is; nobody beats me. But before I utterly lap you, you gotta realize that there was a reason why I had my own game. There was a reason why I was the guy in first place, leaving the other losers to choke on my dust. There was a reason why I had my fingers curled around a golden trophy, and why I never stooped below first on the winners' podium.

This reason amounts to something plain and simple: it's because I'm _just that good. _Don't you dare forget that, either! 'Cause you'll pay for it!

You understand me? Good! So, now that I assume you won't ever forget that I'm THE BEST, allow me to give you a bit of a background check on yours truly...

When I first came out on the Arcade scene, I was the first of my kind: a kart-racer. I was new. I was fresh and cool. As such, my popularity exploded when Litwak plugged in _TurboTime _in 1982. Back in the day, gamers would crowd around my console with quarters literally armed for next game. Sure, I wasn't nearly as popular as _Pac-Man_ some days, but I competed neck and neck with _Fix-It Felix Jr._, and that's certainly something, knowing how long he's been around.

On a typical day at the Arcade, I'd see about eighty races, give or take a few. Impressive, huh? From opening to closing, I was constantly shadowed by the face of a gamer. Boy, those kids couldn't get enough of me, I was so incredibly addictive! Day in and day out, I'd tear across the track, lapping those lousy TurboTwins - whatever their names were - to take the trophy with ease. And each time I crossed the finish line, I'd give the gamer a hardy, "Turbo-Tastic!" with a thumbs-up. I got smiles all around.

I swear it was my catchphrase, but those kids fed the console so many quarters that Litwak saw a dramatic spike in his income just weeks after I was plugged in. We got more and more players with each passing day, and they just kept coming. It was relentless. From my place behind the screen, the Arcade teemed with kids the entire day, swarming my game with change.

But hey, you never saw me complain. 1982 was a sweet, sweet paradise of fame, speed and ambitions for a success like me. I hardly ever got a breather between games and I loved it. I loved the adrenaline of racing, the rush of the road, the sleekness of my trophy so much that it didn't matter that during hours, I was being controlled by a kid. As long as I won (which, I always did), nothing could ruin my perfect hour. And with my surplus of winnings, my face ended up freezing itself into an infectious grin, which made me that much better.

You could say that I was definitely the most popular guy in the Arcade. I mean, how could I not be? Whenever I hung out at Tapper's, I'd find myself surrounded by other Arcade inhabitants - those who had heard of my infamy and had come to see me for themselves. Curious eyes and anxious questions enveloped me like a cloud as I sipped root beer on my barstool, grinning so widely my cheeks wrinkled permanently.

Who was this talented money-maker? Who was the ruler of the racetrack? Who was the all-time favorite of gamers statewide? they all asked.

I was the answer, of course.

Needless to say, my world then was golden. For what seemed like ages, I considered myself the most important asset to the Arcade, what with my enormous popularity (both virtual and not) and getting Litwak an extra boost of cash, and all that. He even took the time to pat my console and comment on my success every now and then at closing. He'd polish the game's screen when he got the chance and smiled through the glass like a proud father.

Basking in the glory of the spotlight, I thought my time as Arcade-favorite would never end. I imagined myself at the top of the podium, prosperous, amazing, Turbo-Tastic... forever. My future was an endless spans of victory. Without a blip of doubt, I knew that there wasn't a game on the market that could outshine me - there would never be another game like mine. I was Turbo, the one-of-a-kind racer. Turbo, the fastest thing on wheels. Turbo, the king of Arcade games.

But... I never realized that my glory would only lead to Litwak's wealth.

The splendor of attention I got somewhat blinded me to the amassing money that he was earning. Eventually, after garnering a grand amount of quarters, Litwak had enough money to buy a new game. That game would turn out to downshift the course of my Arcade existence, though, I didn't see it coming. No one in the Arcade did.

By that time, it was the year 1987. I had been the go-to Arcade game for nearly five years by then, and I had no idea that my reign as champ of the Turbo Track would soon screech to a halt.

* * *

This is where you jump in.

It was another typical racing day for me in _TurboTime._ It was three times around the track, avoiding my two "rivals" while shooting for a high speed record. On top of those, we had to avoid obstacles like mud pits or the scraps of walking fur asking to become roadkill.

I already had dozens of races behind me when I zipped across the finish line around nine pm., or so. Closing time was in an hour, and the pair of regulars at the controls had planned on blowing all of their coins playing my game till Litwak called it a night. At the current moment, they were on their last few quarters to burn, which meant that I was in for several more races. When I got home, I'd have to make room for my daily trophy intake.

_Now, where can I put those? _I wondered.

That had me giddy and my smile only got bigger. After all, the shelves of my home were crammed to the edges with my trophies. They filled the floor, the corners, the tables... everywhere. I could barely walk around, but it was quite a sight.

Unlike the Twins, who had crossed the finish line with barely-suppressed groans of vexation, I was raring to keep on racing to earn more trophies and love from those gamers. I tell you, it was all so satisfying! I often had trouble wrapping my head around the fact that those two disliked racing most days.

But I wouldn't know losing, would I?

Anyway, I had easily won the race. Naturally. It hadn't been difficult at all - it never was with my driving expertise. My ears were still ringing from the ripping of my engine, and my teeth slightly chattering as I slowed the kart. They tend to do that whenever I get really in tune with the race.

Once fully stopped, I stepped out of my kart, waving and passing out winks to the fake, jouncing pixels of the crowd as I approached the winners' podium. Pre-recorded screams blasted into my skin and absorbed through me, rejuvenating me eccentrically.

I was beaming as I adjusted my collar coolly. "Another race, another victory. Heh, heh, nothin' to it. Turbo-Tastic."

The Twins had slammed on their brakes and forced themselves out of their karts. They stalked behind me, grumbling about something I could care less about while dragging their feet. _What a pair of sore losers, _I thought. _You'd think they'd be used to it about now. _

Ignoring them, I hopped gleefully up to first place on the podium, with the Twins taking their respective places in second and third. They forced a pair of smiles and slouched irritably, trying to keep their eyes away from me before I was awarded.

Ah, how I loved the award process: all of a sudden and out of nowhere, the golden trophy would magically materialize itself into my awaiting hands, glittering beautifully. It reflected my face when I gazed into it in triumph.

Once I held my prize, the game's victory jingle would ring, some high scores were posted on the screen, and that was it. That was the set-in-stone routine for us in _TurboTime_. But it never got old to me.

Meanwhile, above, the pair of long-haired teenage boys crammed their faces before the screen as I shoved my trophy in the TurboTwins' scowls. The gamers' cheers were contagious through the glass; I couldn't resist the urge to belt out a, "Turbo-Tastic!" while grinning to the edges of my racing helmet.

It may come as a shock to you, but while I had relived this moment again and again for five solid years, I never ceased to feel like I was intoxicated whenever I won. I loved rubbing my victory in the TurboTwins' gross yellow teeth. It just felt so... _good. _Gratifying, even. I really can't explain it. The win filled me with a warmth that saturated every bit of my body till I wanted to sing.

I never once saw my job as a grind or rut. My job as a racer, and more importantly as a winner, was my life, my existence, my purpose! I was programmed to win. Nothing and no one could take that away from me. Since day one, I was completely assured of that.

And if I was programmed to win, then I was gonna enjoy every second of it.

I honestly did, until that day in 1987.

Now that the game was over, the teenagers scrounged their pockets for another round of quarters and switched players. As they did so, the world of _TurboTime _went black to allow us to reset our positions. The eyes of the game's inhabitants glowed in the darkness, bobbing around like fireflies as we scuttled.

"Positions! Positions, everybody!" I called out, for what, the hundredth time today?

"WE KNOW!" someone on the podium replied.

Normally I would've questioned their tone, but my ecstasy at the race was driving my feet. I jumped off the podium and jogged excitedly back to my kart, which lay in the middle of the track. My shoes crunched on the dirt, producing a few giggles from me. Hugging my new prize close, I tried to restrain the bubbling sensation in my chest.

"Another race, another victory," I repeated with a smile.

Once I made it to my faster-than-lightning kart, I leapt over the side and into my seat, laying down the trophy in my lap. I quickly buckled up and laid my feet on the pedals, stroking the steering wheel with pleasure. "Let's finish this shift up right, baby. Let's race!"

After hitting the ignition, my kart thundered to life, ready to speed off. I floored it in reverse, shooting backward till I made my abrupt stop in front of the starting line with a shriek of the brakes. My beloved kart and I were ready to shine once again.

Just then my competition pulled up on either side of me. I couldn't tell much from the faint glow their eyes cast on their faces, but I knew that one of them was shooting me a glare.

We exchanged a long glance from across our driver's seats. He then revved his engine loudly, the sound echoing along the walls, tempting me. I grinned back at his gesture, and with a phony salute, crooned at him, "See ya at the finish line."

He shook his head. "I'll beat you today, Turbo! I can feel it. You just watch."

Well, that didn't faze me in the slightest. I couldn't help myself and laughed out loud, "Yeah, right!"

Before he could reply, the clicking of a quarter rolling inside the slot then caught our attentions. Without warning, the Track lights came on, brightly illuminating the raceway and the trio of racers upon it. The darkness lifted just in time for the game's theme song to begin tooting in its 8-bit majesty.

I shifted in my seat and focused forward, listening for the starting signal. It took a little while to chime, so I glanced up to the screen. Watching us, I saw the gamers, but I noticed someone else, too.

Litwak caught my eye as he hobbled by behind the gamers' shoulders. From the looks of it, he was pushing a shiny game console into the open spot on the floor across from my game, and it looked heavy.

The moment he set it down, the boys turned their heads, their eyes alight. Without a moment's hesitation they immediately abandoned the steering wheel and flew over to the game right as Litwak plugged it in to Game Central, crying, "Wow! New game!"

It all happened so fast, the starting signal went completely ignored.

The _TurboTime _theme shut off in an instant, casting heavy silence upon the racetrack. None of us moved.

Suffice to say, this had never happened before. No one had ever just... up and ran from the beginning of a _new game._

I froze in my seat and gawped at the boys. Focused on the other screen, their faces were lit up by the glow of a fancily-pixelated race car swerving across an infinitely-winding road. One of them handled the steering while the other one blasted cars in the roadway to smithereens. I noticed with a start that the car had a huge gun mounted to its roof. Litwak supervised the whole affair, commenting facts about the game to them. I watched with disturbed intensity.

Reading the console's name, _RoadBlasters, _quickly shot my pulse with ice.

I didn't know it then, but I know now. Yes, the bane of my career had reared its spotlight-snatching-first-person-shooter/racer head, and in nothing but a half-second, it had knocked me into the shadows of those boys' minds.

I waited there, watching, numb.

_How...? What? _My brain flustered wildly at a million miles an hour.

The race that was supposed to be commencing never happened, and the racetrack was deathly quiet. Only the putting of our engines and the noise of _RoadBlasters _dared to interfere with the silence.

My eyes were so wide they were drying out. I couldn't stop staring at those boys. I had gotten so used to seeing faces over the years that seeing someone's back instead was a horrifyingly foreign sight to me. They were engrossed with the game - consumed by it. They never once looked back at my screen, or at my face as it reduced itself to an empty gape.

Moments dragged on as they forgot me and became absorbed by explosions and the asphalt-blurring speed of the car. They laughed and joked, fiercely jerking the wheel and hitting buttons, excited by the new toy in front of them.

_Hey... What about me?_

Blinking hard, I unbuckled my seat belt and rose from my kart onto the track. "What just happened...?" I wondered aloud, my voice a breath. Walking forward aimlessly, my fingers uncurled around the trophy. It thudded heavily to the ground.

It had only been minutes, and they still had their backs to me. They weren't holding _my _steering wheel. They weren't giving _me_ any form of attention. Not one glance.

Something in the pit of my gut began churning.

Behind me, two pairs of feet hit the ground and crackled upon the dirt. I didn't need to glance back to know that the Twins had their faces craned toward the empty screen of _TurboTime, _just like me.

"What's that new game?" one of them asked. His voice was strangely calm, despite the circumstances. _"RoadBlasters...?" _

Sheer astonishment hit me upside the head when he said,_ "_Those graphics look great." The guy seemed generally impressed, and maybe, even a little awed - as if anyone could ever be impressed by an attention-stealing jumble of ones and zeroes.

The other, who had revved his engine, droned, "Yeah... A little _too_ great... I feel kinda pixelated, now..." He paused for a sigh. "Man, but look at all those colors! I've never seen so many in one place!"

"They've really amped up the gameplay since we were plugged in, haven't they? Amazing what five years can do," the respectful one said.

An awful noise sliced through their conversation briefly as the _RoadBlasters _car drifted expertly through a sharp turn. It barely slowed down and continued blowing anything in its way into oblivion.

Whereas they were amazed, I was broiling with jealousy inside. I was the only one I knew who could drift that well. "Did you see that?! He's got some nice moves!" the Twin on my right marveled.

"Ohh...! I wonder if he would teach me a few pointers after hours?" the other said wistfully. He then added in an undertone, though I heard it regardless, "Maybe then I could finally get out of second and get my hands on a trophy for once..."

"We're definitely asking him over to Tapper's once the Arcade closes."

"Deal."

The Twins exchanged this entire conversation without acknowledging my presence once. I stayed silent. As much as it hurt to admit, _RoadBlasters _had much more color, much more intensity and enhancements than me. Nausea began to creep its way in as the boys' free trial from Litwak ended. They promptly searched their pockets for extra quarters. Once found, they shoved them eagerly into the coin slot and resumed play.

And no, I had not forgotten that those quarters were originally meant for me.

My fists bunched up at my sides. I was starting to despise those meaningless explosions and the immediate adoration that that game had received.

How could they do this to me? How was this possible?!

"What's so great about _RoadBlasters,_ anyway?!" I growled through my teeth. "Racing was never meant to involve blowing things up! How could they think that that game is better than ME?!"

The calmer Twin piped up, finally noticing I was there. "Whoa, Turbo. Calm down. Don't jump to any conclusions, yet." I turned my burning gaze up at him when he stepped next to me. It took me a moment to realize that the guy was several pixels taller than I was. I guess I never noticed, since I was always two steps above him on the podium.

Quite a gangly thing, he towered over me (I'm a little on the short side), clad from head to toe in cobalt blue racing gear. He was adorned with white stripes here and there, and just like the rest of us in _TurboTime, _he had milky skin, large, yellow eyes, and crooked, yellowing teeth. Despite his unpleasant appearance, this one was considerably decent in his manners. He managed to sneak out half-hearted congratulations to me whenever I won.

He was okay, I guess. But even after five years, I hadn't ever remembered his name. He told me it once, but I've since forgotten it. Didn't matter to me. However, because he consistently finished dead last, we'll start calling him Third.

Anyway, Third continued, "Just because Litwak brought in another game that doesn't mean we're obsolete," he reassured me. "You know how they are. Those kids get excited about the new stuff, that's all. Soon the new-game flair will wear off."

"Always does," his brother added.

I turned to him. Third's brother looked exactly the same, so it was like looking in a mirror whenever you talked to them. Same clothes, same face, same crappy racing skills. But this guy's voice bore an edge to it - one that his brother lacked. He had a bit of an attitude as well, since he was fond of bashing my kart whenever we sped off from the starting line. We weren't anything alike racing-wise, but we did have a bit of an... anger problem occasionally.

I stood in awe at their incredulous expressions. "Are-are you joking?!" In defiance, I stabbed an open palm at _RoadBlasters. _"Did you see how quickly they left me?! What if it doesn't wear off?! What if they never play me again?! What if... What if they forget about me?!" I whispered the last lines in sheer horror. Clawing at my helmet, I stared at my shoes, stuttering, "I can't be forgotten... I can't be left behind! I _have_ to be played! I WILL be played!"

Those thoughts of abandonment had my mind tripping. I shuddered to imagine never being played again, never driving under the gaze of a praise-paying gamer or holding another trophy in my hands...

If that happened, I would lose everything - everything that defined a winner. Everything that defined_ me. _I gulped.

The meaner Twin's pale eyelids tightened (let's call him Second, since that's what he always took), his mouth wrinkling in distaste. "Hey, this game's not just about you, you know. You can't exclude us, Turbo, we're a part of _TurboTime _as much as you are."

My lip twitched and I snorted. Did he have the nerve to bring this up _now? _With the tragedy of _RoadBlasters _so prominent? I was so not in the mood.

I finally rolled my eyes at his blatant stupidity, barking out, "Yeah, for one lousy reason! All you do is fill up the second and third places on the podium! Nothing else!"

Third blinked and stammered, "E-excuse me?"

How thick were these guys? My voice gradually escalated in volume till I was shouting as loudly as I could. "Ugh, don't you get it? That's _all you were created for, _because you always lose, and I always win! I was created to be the best, the most popular, the one and only! That's why it's called _TURBOTIME, _and why I'm THE FAVORITE!"

Second's eyebrows skyrocketed into his blue helmet, nearly knocking it off his head. Third also reacted: he stiffened and clenched his jaw, looking uncomfortable.

More silence hung for some time. No one spoke. After a while, Second's breath came out in angry bursts through his nostrils. I could tell I had cut him deep with my words.

"You've got a lot of nerve, talkin' like that, Turbo," he hissed, glaring down his nose at me. "But you've never said that before. Why are you suddenly being so honest, huh?" With a critical smirk, he aimed a thumb back at _RoadBlasters. _"Does it have anything to do with the new guy stealin' your thunder?"

In no time at all, both his eyes and mine were glowing with malice, but that's not what got me frothed up. No, he hit me home with _RoadBlasters. _

I didn't need an minute to realize that I hated that game with every bit of my being. I hated its "updated" graphics and gameplay, it's "exciting" features, and its crazy appeal to gamers. The explosions drove me insane. But what I hated the most was how its mechanics were a total copy of mine. I was supposed to be the only racer, done and done. Another game like that shouldn't have existed.

I locked an enraged glower with Second. "HA! That guy's a jackleg! He doesn't deserve to be in my Arcade! He doesn't deserve the gamers' attention or quarters or anything!"

He crossed his arms and shifted his feet, his eyebrows low and his smile smooth. "YOUR Arcade? Oh, I get it. This whole fit you're pitching is over the fact that you might not be the best, anymore-"

"I AM THE BEST!" I screamed, finally losing it. Second recoiled at my outburst, while Third looked plain worried. I stabbed a finger at the former, my body and my voice physically shaking. "DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT AGAIN, SECOND! I know I'm the best! And I won't have some moronic amateur like _RoadBlasters _put me in the shade!"

The guy stood still, and by the look in his eyes, he was milling over what I had just said. His jaw ground. He cocked his head to the side, making a face. "...Did you just call me _Second?" _he grunted slowly.

"Yeah, ya blue beanpole. Why shouldn't I if that's the only place you take?! Seemed appropriate enough for me." I sneered into his face. Hidden lines in his skin suddenly became more jutting. "Last time I checked, second always came behind first!"

I had struck his core with professional precision and seriously made him _mad._ He bore his ugly yellow teeth and took a step forward. Third tensed for an ensuing fight behind him, murmuring, "Charger..."

Second paid no heed to his name and growled out, "Why, I oughta-"

I took my stance and stood my ground, even though he soared over me. I wasn't afraid of this loser. What was the worst he could do? "Oughta what, hm? What are you gonna do, Second? We can't settle this over a race - all you'll achieve is eating up my dust and taking second place as usual! And you wanna know why?" I paused for effect.

Second (or Charger) looked like he was about to explode, he was holding back so much fury. I'd only seen his aggression this bad on the racetrack, where he'd try everything from foul-mouthing to ramming to try and surpass me. Now that I think on it, he was the most ill-tempered cuss whenever I won, or when he shot me blacks looks from another table at Tapper's.

I realized that the guy seriously wanted to win, but since I was there in front of him, he never got his chance, and that drove him crazy.

His eyes were like furnaces, riveted on me with hatred; his fists, at his sides, tightened till his knuckles cracked. Standing in his shadow, I had a feeling he was about to send one of those right into my mouth.

Despite that, I finished off my statement, "Because you were created to be the loser, and_ I_ was created to be the winner, Turbo-Tastic!"

That was the day I found out that the truth hurts. A lot.

"THAT'S IT!" Second screamed. Before I had the chance to consider getting out of his way, he threw out his arms and surged forward, where he took up a fistful of my collar. "ARGH!" With a yank, he hauled me clear off the ground and at his mercy, dangling me like a set of car keys.

I howled and started flailing my legs, where I succeeded in landing a few kicks to his gut. He was so close to me, I felt his hot breath breeze over my face with each hit. I tried to escape, but in that position, there wasn't much else I could do but thrash. "Let me down, you idiot!" I cried.

He ignored me and snarled. "SHUT UP! I've had it up to HERE with you-"

Second cut off as Third raced to us in a heartbeat, knocking into his shoulder to disturb his balance. His brother merely shifted his stance and continued trying to strangle me, growling like a hound.

"Hey, hey, Charger! Break it up! Stop it!" Third hollered, inserting his hands between us in an attempt to separate the fight, but Second just shook him off. He really meant business, tonight.

Second still had me strung up by my clothes when he took a fist back and spat, "Turbo-Tastic this, you little tightwad!" I was helpless. He drove his fist straight into my jaw at the speed of a bullet; his knuckles collided with a sickening crunch that sent sharp pain up and down my face. My jaw popped slightly out of its socket and my teeth rattled.

A yelp escaped from my throat, but Second refused to drop me. In fact, he pulled his fist back again, ready for another round. This time, though, Third intervened.

Instead of trying to divide us, Third tackled Second full-force and sent the three of us tumbling to the dirt. Second's grip on my collar was so tight that when we were forced apart, he took half of my collar with him. They landed in a struggling pile of cobalt blue next to me. I hit the ground hard enough that my helmet rang like a bell.

I laid there, sprawled, gazing up at the dark sky of _TurboTime. _Man, Second had really nailed me - the pain in my jaw was excruciating. I pinched my eyes closed and cupped it, trying to settle the pounding of my head. My moans went unheard beneath the irate screams of Second as he writhed underneath his brother, who was holding him down by his shoulders.

"GET OFF ME, BOOST!" Second roared. "I'LL TOTAL THAT EGOCENTRIC FREAK!"

Third roared right back in his face, "No you won't! Calm down and think for a bit, Charger! Is this really solving anything?"

His brother stopped twisting. "...H-huh?"

"All this fighting, all this arguing? Jealousy? Hatred? Where - if anywhere - will this lead us? Let it go, Charger." He shook his head, hesitating before saying, "It's really not worth it."

"But did you hear what he said?!"

"I heard it just fine, but do you see me trying to kill the little guy over it? It's not right."

Charger laid still, thinking it over for a while. There was a bit of anger still lingering in his eyes, but he had simmered down enough at his brother's words. "Mm..." he said under his breath. "Yeah, I guess." As he started to sit up, his brother eased off him and knelt at his side, where they linked glances for several moments.

I propped myself on-elbow, my palm covering my aching jaw. Finally, Charger's brother (Boost, as I now realize) swiveled his head towards me. "We can't let this new game tear us apart, no matter how popular it gets. Now, I know we haven't ever been... stepped up like this... but we need to accept that we have a new neighbor, and maybe some friendly competition."

My skin crawled at that. I had no competition whatsoever.

"So let's have some fun with this, all right, you two? After all, it _is_ a family fun center we're in. Let's not make waves with each other." Boost continued in a grimmer tone, looking to his brother, "Charger, can you handle toning it down? easing it up?"

He nodded, his eyelids low over his incandescent eyes. "Yeah."

Boost then looked to me. "And Turbo, would it really kill you to let _us_ win at closing time every now and then?" My eyebrows rose. "I know it's not been in your repertoire for the past five years, but none of this would have happened if things were more fair. And I speak for both of us when I say that coming up losing all the time doesn't feel that great." Charger agreed with a somber nod.

I remained where I was, expressionless. When he noted my reaction, Boost finished, "Look, I'm not asking you to stop winning altogether, 'cause you're one great racer, Turbo. You go ahead and keep on winning for the gamers." He then surprised me when he gave me a genuine smile. "But I think we'd all be much happier if we evened out the odds across the three of us. Just at closing time, and that's all." Inspecting my face, he proposed kindly, "Do we have a deal?"

Now, under normal circumstances, I would have been appalled at the idea of letting someone else win. Don't get me wrong, I was feeling sick to my stomach throughout his speech, but because my jaw hurt so badly, I wasn't able to voice my opinion on the whole thing. My opinion involved a strict, _Even out the odds? No way! It's not MY fault you guys suck at racing!, _but they didn't hear it.

I shifted my eyes to the ground as means of reply to Boost. He firmed his lips with disappointment, probably getting the picture that I wasn't going to say anything. Not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't.

"Okay, then," he said reverently. "That about settles it. Well..." Boost raised his head towards _TurboTime_'s screen, which was still empty. He sighed. "With _RoadBlasters _in, I don't think we'll be getting much more play time, tonight. Might as well turn in early. It's been a long day."

Getting to his feet, he brushed the dirt off his shins and held out a hand to Charger, who took it and rose as well. They both stared down at me as I sat, irresolute, watching them in silence.

"We're headed home. What are you going to do till closing time, Turbo?" Boost asked me in a caring manner, as if he were generally interested in my decision. He had ever spoken to me like that, before; I marveled at it, however briefly.

I stared at him blankly and gathered my voice, coping with the stiffness of my jaw as I opened it and said, "Wait-" As I made the syllable, my jawbone popped stridently, paining me. I cringed.

Boost seemed a bit sad, but he didn't prod me. Vaguely, I wondered why. "Suit yourself. Well, enjoy your night, Turbo. Come and get us if anyone comes by." He then waved me goodbye and turned on his heel towards the small set of houses beyond the stands, stooping his head as he strode away. He left his kart behind the finish line.

Meanwhile, Charger didn't follow immediately. He waited for some time till his twin was out of earshot, wringing the shreds of my collar between his fingers. A tinge of his prior hostility hinted his eyes and tone when he said lowly, "One more crack like that, Turbo, and I'll make sure you can't crack that stupid smile ever again."

And with that threat, he threw the remains of my collar into my lap and swiveled himself around, following after Boost. I watched him walk away and shrink into the distance, my gaze smoldering on his back.

When the windows of the Twins' home lit up, I swallowed the bitter saliva in my mouth hard and scooted myself towards _TurboTime's _screen, curling into a ball. Alone and feeling hollow, I wrapped my arms around my shins and hugged them, rested my chin gently on my knees, and stared up at the Arcade.

And so I waited.

No one came by.

"C'mon..." I plead. "C'mon, please... I _have_ to race... Anybody... Please..."

I sat inert for so long, my entire body went numb. As the time staggered on, my pulse heightened and my jawbone throbbed more painfully than before. My stomach twisted into several knots that I knew wouldn't untie themselves as a chill inside of me spread.

After half an hour of absolutely nothing, I shivered under the warm lights of the track.

_Wow, _I thought. _I didn't plan for any of _that.

My mind exhausted itself imagining that not an hour ago, I was content with my life. I was content with my trophies, my fame, my popularity and my uniqueness.

I never once complained, did I? I never asked for _RoadBlasters _to barge in on my career_. _I never asked to have my racing supremacy questioned, and I never asked for the idiocy of Charger. I didn't even ask for that punch he gave me.

I rubbed my jaw. Why was this happening to me?

It wasn't fair.

Why did the giants have to fall?

I didn't deserve this. No, I didn't!

And why did it have to be me? Why not Pac-Man? or Felix? Or why not the _RoadBlasters _guy? I would kill to see that.

Hm... Could that ever happen?

I boiled over these facts longer than I realized, for before I knew it, I had been sitting below the screen desperately for more than an hour. Still, not a soul came by, and closing time was on its approach. The end of my day was looking pretty sour.

I shifted uncomfortably on the ground. Blinking against the light from the Arcade - which strained my tiring eyes - my glance zeroed in _RoadBlasters, _which was still as popular as ever. I realized that no one had come by _TurboTime_ since the boys from before had recruited other gamers into checking out the game.

Game after game was played, and car after car was demolished with missiles - it was an endless nightmare, watching it play out. Entranced by _RoadBlasters,_ the gamers gathered around the console as a mob of adoring fans...

...fans that used to adore me.

My brows knit together in a glare at that thought, and my attitude shifted dramatically. "How dare they?" I spat at their backs. _"How dare they?" _The words gave rise to a sudden rush of anger inside of me. My fingers curled into the material of my jumpsuit, digging into my legs.

While frowning through the screen, my thoughts began to flit faster than my kart. How dare they leave me behind? How dare they cast me aside for some pointless new game? I mean, where was the satisfaction in blowing stuff up? You never crossed a finish line. Where was the joy in driving until you ran out of gas? Those miles were meaningless! How was weaponry such a big deal to those kids?!

How could they forget the magnificence of a freshly-polished trophy, or the thrill of standing at the podium? _RoadBlasters _would NEVER amount to that level of achievement.

I had been their Arcade companion for five consecutive years, while _RoadBlasters _had only been here what, a few hours? I knew them better than that poser did. What did he have to offer them that I couldn't offer BETTER? How did fiery destruction compare to glorious winning? How did his lame, 8-bit engine noises compare to my uplifting theme? How did those badly-recorded voices compare to my catchy Turbo-Tastics?!

I failed to comprehend _any_ of those questions that had blossomed in the humid confines of my mind. The reasoning behind them confounded me.

Stuck there, without answers, I hated it. I hated _all of it. _And the more I thought about it, while growing rigid in the dirt, I hated the whole thing even more. Rage bled through me up from my stomach, seething into my veins and igniting them voraciously. My breath spurted from my nose, and my palms were sweaty, dampening my jumpsuit. My eyes stung horribly from their sheer wideness and their lack of moisture; I hadn't blinked, yet.

The longer I thought about my hatred for _RoadBlasters, _my teeth unconsciously gritted themselves - I only noticed it once my jaw pinched in pain. But I didn't focus on my pain. Instead, my thoughts delved into wild fantasies - _dark, _wild fantasies - that had crawled out from the blackest corners of my head.

When they stepped onto the stage as inspiration, I was shocked. Some of the stuff I thought of frightened me. I had never been to the places that they came from. They were much too risky, much too extravagant and nefarious. Some of them were on the brink of impossible, even.

I tried to shake them away, clamping my eyes shut. "No, no, that's bad, Turbo," I breathed to myself, holding them back. It was difficult, though, since some of my fantasies were _extremely_ tempting. "You can't mess with the program or nothin'. You're the star of your own game, and that's that."

Then Boost's words appeared in my head: _Let it go. It's really not worth it. _Applying that to my malevolent thoughts, I tried to believe him. Really, I did, but the moment I opened my eyes again, I immediately saw _RoadBlasters, _and my efforts were in vain.

...Would performing some of my thoughts be worth it? The outcomes were desirable, but... also very damaging in the long run. I was beside myself.

My wonderings were cut short by a voice radiating through the Arcade. It was Litwak, calling, "All right, kids! Last game - it's closing time!" He was followed by a chorus of moans from the bummed-out gamers, most of which were crammed around _RoadBlasters, _unsurprisingly.

Boy, they had _really_ increased in number in the past hour; those boys must have gathered every kid in the Arcade, because the group was huge. Each pair of eyes was fixated on the screen as the girl behind the wheel disintegrated her last few cars, ultimately running out of gas.

Once she saw her score, she gave the boys high-fives and walked away with them, blathering on about how awesome the game was. They quickly joined in, exchanging stories, filing out with the crowd, while the others followed behind them. As the enormous collection of kids departed for the door, their voices all bore the same tone of delight, their expressions still on the winding road of _RoadBlasters. _

When the gamers left, the Arcade quieted, all but for the chimes of the consoles and Litwak's whistling while he swept the floors. Now that our dayshifts were over, the populace at Litwak's waited for him to finish sweeping, because, once he was done, we were off work.

Any other day, I was sad to see closing arrive, but since I was still pretty moody over those awful gamers, I was glad for once. Boost was right. It _had _been a long day... especially near the end, and I was tired. As angry as I was about _RoadBlasters, _I was looking forward to a break; some me time; a chance to keep my thoughts off those twisted things that had revealed themselves to me.

I still doubted the benefits behind some of those plots of mine. They loomed in the back of my mind, dangerously alluring, purring my name. A shiver darted under my skin as one of the worst ones breezed through my mind fleetingly.

"It's not worth it," I murmured against the images. I clutched at my helmet, pressing my fingertips into its sleek surface. "It's not worth it..."

Even _I_ knew that I was lying to myself.

I sighed. Anyway, my regular after-hours agenda involved taking my kart to the garage to wax it and give it a good spoiling. After the events of the day, however, my plans had changed.

I watched Litwak bustle about through the screen, my ears tuned into his actions: from the patting of his feet, to the swishing of his broom, to the tune he was whistling. Finally, after sweeping the place clean and gathering his belongings, Litwak shut off the lights and left the building, his keys clicking in the door as he locked it behind him.

After a thirteen hour day, Litwak's had closed for the night.

Once he was gone, I slowly uncurled from my little ball, my joints sighing as I did so. I was stiff all over the place, and my rear end was awkwardly numb after sitting for so long. _TurboTime _had fallen under dim light, leaving me in semi-darkness, my eyes glowing solitary on the deserted track. Getting to my feet, I brushed myself off and reached up to my sore jaw, where my palm was met with a large, swollen lump.

I was stunned. As skinny as he was, Charger had one heck of a swing to give me a lump _this _gigantic - it nearly spanned from my chin to my ear. Something other than his thirst for winning had driven his fist, tonight. I groaned, both inward and outward - there was no way I was going to be able to hide this thing. How long was this goose egg gonna linger on my face, anyway? My helmet didn't fit right because of it. I needed ice.

Turning to the exit of _TurboTime, _I fingered the lump, huffing, my enmity for Charger only rising.

"Ugh. I need a soda."

**So what'd you think? How'd I do? I was really excited to get it out there on the site. If you liked it, shoot me a review. I'd love to hear some feedback!**

**Anyway, the two racers in _TurboTime _were never named in-movie, so I named them myself, trying to match the flair of Turbo's name. I gotta say, I really like Boost; he's a super nice guy. Charger needs a little love, but then again, so does Turbo, so... we'll see where this turn of events carries our trio of racers.**

**Aw... Turbo got punched. (But he kinda deserved it.)**

**In closing, I'd like to thank Disney for creating such a wonderfully-inspiring movie and having the perseverance and vision to make it a reality! THANK YOU, DISNEY!**

**Thanks for reading, my Turbo-Tastic peeps! Look for the next chapter!**

**See ya!**

**S. A. Morley.**


	2. Slipping

**Heyo, everybody! I apologize FIERCELY for the wait - this chapter took me some time due to a few bad cases of I-Can't-Seem-To-Write-Anything-Good, so... Yeah. But regardless, here is chapter two of _Abandoned! _I am totally in love with it, so far, and I hope it shows. :) **

**Okay, so in this chapter, we get to meet Turbo's new rival! Dun dun duuun! I hope his character is satisfactory. Oh, and we'll get a bit out of Tapper, who I really grew to like while writing. :D**

**Anyway, I don't have much to say other than ENJOY! And if you like it, I always welcome reviews! (Pardon any errors as well)**

Remember how I said that I was obviously the most popular guy in the Arcade?

Well, due to my dumpy spirits, I assumed that my all-around admiration would be history now that there was a newbie in our midst. You know how it goes - as soon as there's someone new in the neighborhood, people gravitate towards them and forget everyone else instantly. Knowing that fact, I feared the worst, stepping out into the Station.

However, as soon as I left _TurboTime _for Game Central, that inclination didn't exist. I couldn't count how many waves and smiles I got from people I knew. My feelings of resentment melted away with the surplus of greetings I got as I walked through the station towards Tapper's outlet.

"Hey, Turbo!" they cheerily stated as they passed. They didn't seem to notice my haggard appearance.

"How's it going, champ?"

"Hey, how was your day?"

"Hi, Turbo!"

I gave my due grins and my waves. I'll admit to my heart fluttering a bit with their love; it certainly felt nicer than the cold treatment those gamers had given me. Really, what had I done to deserve _that?_ I didn't have to ask what I had done to deserve this, because I already knew: my neighbors were appreciative of the greats more than slight-minded gamers.

Still, I endeavored to hide my swollen jaw around my smiles to my fans, turning my head this way and that. I didn't want to give an explanation to everyone I met, since talking still hurt me. Until I got some ice to numb my face down, I probably wasn't going to be saying much.

Weaving in and out of people's legs, I made my way through the Station. Soft, electrical lighting filtered in from the numerous sockets, illuminating the nightlife. The high ceilings resonated with chatter and the sound effects of characters marching along, shooting upward into faint shadow. Now that the work day was over, people had already begun to claim the various benches situated on the motherboard-esque carpets. Many of them looked ready to ease into the night and the following morning.

And me? I was thirsty for a cold, fizzy root beer, and I needed ice, so on toward Tapper's I went.

The shiny floors of the Station made my shoes squeak with each step, blending me into the bustle. When I was halfway through my journey, I stopped and twisted my head around to view the digital displays above each game outlet.

I read the familiar titles of _Fix-It Felix Jr., BurgerTime, Pac-Man, Battlezone, Asteroids, Tapper... _all of my neighbors. My eyes then continued around, settling themselves on the very last outlet, where _RoadBlasters _had found its new home. And just like that, my improving mood abruptly fizzled into nothing.

A scowl snuck its way onto my face. The place had attracted a few curious onlookers into watching it for activity. Groups here and there would stare at it to see if anyone was coming out, but it was lifeless in appearance. No one had gone in to visit, as far as I'd seen.

Argh, why would they even WANT to meet that _RoadBlasters _guy? What was so intriguing about him? I honestly didn't understand their fascination if all he did was blow things up and steal precious players. Yeah. What a welcome addition to this fine Arcade _he_ was.

Casting a glance over my shoulder, I found that _RoadBlasters _had been plugged into the socket directly across from mine, which only intensified my scowl. My hands rolled into fists again.

_Nice one, Litwak, _I thought snidely. _Thanks for putting that dirtbag smack in the middle of my view. It's bad enough that I can see him perfectly from my screen, but now I have to see him whenever I leave, too?! How many other empty outlets could you have picked from? _

In my griping, I didn't understand the subtle significance of this placement, nor did I realize that this would later prove to be the worst action Litwak had ever performed. This action would violently shake the foundations of regulation; the Arcade would suffer greatly from _RoadBlasters _and _TurboTime _being face-to-face - in due time, at least.

As of now, though, I had absolutely no clue what atrocities were in store for me, _RoadBlasters, _and those I interacted with.

Giving a final sneer to the game_,_ I banked a right, my sights set on the golden outlet of Tapper's. While mid-stride, I caught several of my neighbors (six, seven of 'em) with the same idea filing into the joint in front of me. I pressed on to join them.

Tapper's was the usual hangout - aside from _BurgerTime - _whenever the Arcade closed. Those of us here ate at Peter Pepper's and drank at Tapper's whenever we vegged out. After all, what more could you want at the end of the day than a tall burger and a root beer?

Beneath conversations, I melded my way into the flow, eager to get in there and get some ice for my aching jaw. It was really acting up with all of the noise of the Station, becoming extremely sensitive to even the slightest sounds or heavy movements. As I walked onward, someone behind me knocked into the outlet, their impact sending out a minor electrical surge. Normally they were harmless, but my jaw was touchy. My face contorted after my jaw spiked in pain, bringing with it a headache.

I grunted and rubbed my swelling, spitting in my mind, _Stupid Charger - stupid punch! What did he hit me for?! I was only telling the truth. The thick-headed imbecile should have seen that by now! Grr!_

My already-foul mood inevitably worsened by the mere thought of that lousy jerk. As a result, I walked into the _Tapper_ station mildly fuming, advancing up the small flight of steps with my jaw clamped again unwittingly. I quickly had to loosen up before my headache went through the roof as well.

Once at the top, I discovered that seats were quickly filling. The open-air train was preparing to disembark into the tunnel of copper wires shortly, and only a few seats were vacant.

It was crowded tonight, and I wasn't going to wait. I surveyed the others around me, most of which were too busy chatting away or asking about the newest arrival. Impatient and refusing to hear even a breath about that game, I cut my way around a battalion of _Space Invaders _aliens, skipping ahead of the line that was forming. I didn't care who saw me as I dashed forward.

I leapt up and squeezed into the first place I saw: a tight spot next to a huge guy from _Street Fighter_ with a cocky squint, blue shorts, and ridiculous orange hair. When I forced myself into the space, I found that I was crammed between his thick thigh and the wall of the train car, my elbows pointed uncomfortably into my sides. My sneakers dangled freely from the bench.

Sitting next to this behemoth of a man, I was puny. So puny, in fact, that he merely tilted his head a bit to register that something was there, then resumed his conversation with the person to his right. I realized that asking him to scoot over would have proved fruitless. I was thoroughly stuck.

I tilted my eyes up when the overhead speakers tweeted, _"Tapper Transport _now leaving Game Central Station. Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated until the train comes to a complete stop at your destination. We will arrive in a few minutes. Thank you!" It seemed the train had gotten its sufficient passenger load.

I stared into the wires in front of me, so cramped in that I had nothing else to do but listen in on the _Street Fighter _guy and his pal. The train lurched forward and plunged slowly into the tunnel. We were covered in darkness the moment the train swung in, lit by the occasional blue spark arcing from under us. Ozone-smelling wind whispered across my face as we glided down the tunnel.

The one I couldn't see asked, "Hear we got a new game today, Adon?"

_UGH! _I frowned and slumped as much as would permit. All this _RoadBlasters _brouhaha was spreading like a virus around here, and it was starting to grate on my last nerve. My scary fantasies threatened an encore - I attempted tuning them and the _Street Fighter _guys out as we meandered along the cables, but their voices were so prominent, it was inescapable. I listened against my will while combating my rampant thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah. Some kind of racing one, right?" Adon replied.

"Not just that, though. Ryu told me that the car's rigged with guns and whatnot."

"Whoa! That sounds pretty intense! But, what are the guns for if you're driving?"

My eyes widened. Those were my thoughts exactly!

Adon's friend said, "To shoot stuff in the road, I guess. I dunno, I haven't gotten much detail on the whole thing, yet. We'll start hearing more, I guarantee it. The gamers really hoarded that thing today!"

That was sickeningly true. I wrinkled my nose.

"Ah, yeah. I felt _that_ today around closing."

"So did I..." I croaked out, but I went unheard. Something pierced my soul with sadness at that remark. Truly I wasn't the only one who had been impacted by _RoadBlasters. _And I wasn't the last, for sure.

Adon's friend continued, "You wanna know what else I felt? That gnarly punch from Joe - he's got some fists on him."

The rest of the ride, their chat transitioned from _RoadBlasters _and to the retelling of epic duels they had experienced that day. I kind of understood the kinematics of _Street Fighter, _since you just beat the other guy's lights out, but I got totally lost when they started mentioning "Hadoukens" and things called "HP bars." Luckily, I was saved from the fist-fight mumbo-jumbo when we completed our journey and pulled into the station at Tapper's.

Coming into the light, the train slowed and we were greeted by the overhead speaker voice again, saying, _"Tapper Transport _now arriving at _Tapper. _Please disembark quickly and take whatever personal belongings you brought with you. Enjoy a root beer and have a nice night! Thank you!"

I was seriously ready to catch a mug, but I couldn't move - Adon had me jammed in like a sardine between him and the wall. Squeezing myself out wasn't an option; before I could get off the train, I had to legitimately wait a few seconds for the other passengers to get up.

Once Adon and the others on the bench left, I was freed. "Whew!" I wheezed, finally able to breathe normally. _Never sitting by _him_ again, _I thought.

I hopped off and scooted after the crowd for the stairway to Tapper's doors. As people made their way inside, the doors flapped open, exhaling the nostalgic smell of root beer into the station, and bringing with it more voices and the chirpy tune of "Oh, Susanna."

The fizzy, homey atmosphere pulled me in like an old friend. I pushed my way through and entered Tapper's, my jaw and my thirst taking precedence to my manners.

It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust from the bright terminal to the underlit bar. When they did, I took in the familiar plank floor, the blue saloon-style wallpaper, and the faint orange lanterns above the taps in the walls. Since the place was roofless, the four wooden bars reflected pale light from the screen, highlighting those of us here on one side. The black sky spanned over the talking and the clanking of mugs, the shouts for refills, and the scampering form of Tapper as he fulfilled orders.

This place was... soothing in its own way. I liked it here. It cooled down my emotions to more civil, tolerable levels and subdued the torrents of my mind.

The group from the train-ride dissipated to their own barstools, meeting with other patrons while calling Tapper over for mugs. The tender's saucer-like, green eyes lit up at their requests. "Comin' right up!" he gruffly hollered, taking off.

Man, you should've seen Tapper go up close. It was incredible! His hands blurred as he grabbed a good eight or nine root beer mugs, filled them to the brim with soda, then flung them across the tabletops. They slid without difficulty right into his customers' awaiting hands at ludicrous speeds, and even with the swift movements, not a single drop of root beer was spilled. It was quite an impressive phenomenon to watch.

His performance earned him cheers from his customers. He gave a jerky bow, his thick mustache curling with his smile while he chuckled. Straightening, he made sure everyone seated was satisfied with their drinks, then proceeded to take up an empty mug and swab it down with his washcloth.

I stepped further into the bar, immediately catching Tapper's attention; with my white racing attire and my colorless skin, I reflected the light from the Arcade rather brightly. Tapper looked about to welcome me in, but his eyebrows hit his hairline once he took in my appearance.

"Turbo?!" he spluttered.

No amount of effort on my part would hide my swollen jaw in this light, so I knew I looked pretty bad. I was dirty, my clothes shredded, my helmet lopsided, and on top of those, I was tired. When I could feel my exhaustion - and I mean really_ feel_ it - my eyes sunk and developed purple rings beneath them. I didn't need a mirror to see that I was looking my worst, tonight.

My shoulders slumped in resignation and I stared at him pathetically, standing in front of the doorway. Tapper put down his glass and shuffled to me, his expression awed, his eyes boring into my jaw. He bombarded me with questions. "What happened to your face? Did you hit your steering wheel or somethin'? Did you crash, or what?"

"Mm-mm," I denied with a shake of my head. "Fight," was all I could manage without my jaw cracking again. I quickly clamped my mouth shut after it pinched.

He inspected my face more. "Who with? It's all bruised..."

His remark jolted me, and my head shot up. _Wait, Charger bruised me?! That selfish jerk left a _mark_ on me?! _I suddenly burst with angry shock, rapidly forgetting my jaw problem. I regretted that just as fast. "What?! Ow..." Holding the lump, I hunched over, clenching my hands through the pain of my reckless cry. "Bruise...? _Nrgh..."_

Tapper laid one of his hands on my shoulder. "Yup, and it's gonna stay awhile. Here, come and sit down. I'll get ya some ice for that, champ."

He lead me by the shoulder over to the nearest barstool, where he let me hop up. When I sat, he darted away and promptly filled an empty mug with ice cubes, returning and handing it to me. I took it and held it gingerly against my jaw.

"Aah..." The glass' touch was biting at first, but I dealt with it long enough that the ice assuaged the pain wonderfully. I leaned over the counter with sheer joy. Before long, I couldn't feel the majority of my face as all feeling vanished from it, numbness taking its place. I grinned stupidly as my teeth chattered, though I didn't feel a thing.

"There... Feel better?" Tapper said at my side.

"Yeah. It's Turbo-Tastic," I replied. Now that my pain had been eliminated, I could afford to talk. My words sounded a little funny, though - they would until my swelling came down all the way. "Thanks a lot, Tapper."

He raised his blocky hands. "Hey, anything for you, Turbo."

I couldn't help but look at him. Tapper was a real nice guy - he knew how to handle people. I think that - besides being our local supplier of root beer - was one of the main reasons why he was well-loved. He connected with people and helped them out.

I wasn't one to count my blessings, but I was grateful for his hospitality when everything today seemed to be conspiring against me. _RoadBlasters, _Charger, those gamers...

My day had really gone wrong.

"So, champ," Tapper proposed, taking me out of my reveries.

"Hm?"

"What happened? Who gave you that thing?" He whistled. "He must've had one wicked swing. He from _Street Fighter?"_

I didn't want to talk about this, but I guessed it was inevitable, seeing as I owed him an explanation for my predicament. I spat it out plainly, "Nah. It was another racer from my game."

"Who, the tall one?"

_"One_ of 'em. There're _two."_

"Oh. Right." Tapper took his chin back, puzzled. "Well, what'd he do it for?"

I wasn't gonna sit here all night whining about the reasons leading up to the incident, so instead of retelling it all, I, uh, watered it down a little bit. "Ah, I dunno... We started arguing about that new racing game... _RoadBlasters, _or whatever... Then it got ugly..."

Tapper tilted his head and made a face. "Hold up. We have a new game? When did this happen?"

I was taken aback to hear that he hadn't heard about it, yet. I mean, I had assumed the whole Arcade knew about our new neighbor. "Shortly before closing time. He's right across from me." Pausing, I furrowed my brows at him. "You don't know about this? The whole Arcade's talkin' about it - it's practically viral!"

He shrugged. "Must be somewhere I can't see him at. Eh, I hardly ever get to look up from these mugs when I'm working." With a gesture around him to his customers, he continued with a wry grin, "Hey, I never stop working!"

A giant hot dog man a few barstools away - who had been listening to us - raised his foaming mug to the air and hollered, "And may you never have to!"

"Here, here!" his buddies (a pickle and an egg) chorused. I then watched with disgust as they all proceeded to chug down their soda and engage themselves in a belching contest. Rolling my eyes, I scooted on my stool, leaning over the table and into my cold mug. I figured they must've been those weirdo NPCs from _BurgerTime._

Tapper waved to them over my helmet, laughing. "Thanks, fellas!" The burping continued, mixing with laughter. When they finally crowned a winner of their contest, Tapper turned back to me, resting an elbow on the counter and his knuckles on his chin. New curiosity glittered in his eyes. "Hm... We haven't seen some new faces around here in a while. What's the new game like? _RoadBlasters, _was it?"

My mood took a nose dive again in a heartbeat, fatally plummeting me into another bad-tempered splurge. I clenched the handle of my mug and snarled into the table. "Who cares? I don't."

My abrupt change startled Tapper enough to transform his expression into shock. He looked into my face deeply, searching through it. "Hey, what's the matter? Don't like fresh blood? They're a good change every now and then-"

_"No," _I snapped, my voice as sharp as a knife._ "_I _hate _fresh blood, and I _hate RoadBlasters. _End of story." In my rage, my tone had deepened to a growl, causing Tapper to back off a bit. The curiosity in his eyes was now fear; his tension was tangible as he stood there, unsure of what to do or say. Meanwhile, my temper bubbled beneath the surface, my mind broiling with the images of explosions and that annoying ruby-red car.

Our conversation fell flat to the buzz of voices. The silence between us was so powerful, I could distinctly hear my breathing and the rush of my head. It was quite a few runs of "Oh, Susanna" later before the tender got the courage to disregard my loathing.

"Can I get you anything, Turbo?" Tapper asked me reverently.

The stiffness of shoulders slackened at his voice. I sighed and hung my head; my cheek stuck to the glass. I realized that I felt a little bad for jumping down his throat like that. "A root beer would be nice," I said.

"...Comin' right up."

Tapper left for the soda taps to my right and topped off a glass, which he slid smoothly down the counter till it gently bumped into my arm. I cast a peripheral glance at it before leaning back to reach into my pocket for cash.

But Tapper stopped me mid-reach. "No, no, this one's on the house. Enjoy it." I gaped at him, blinking, for he had utterly baffled me. It was very rare that Tapper gave out free drinks to _anyone. _Why had he chosen me?

The gruff-voiced tender bore a sympathetic look as he retreated and gave me a respectful nod. "Take it easy, champ." And before I had the chance to say anything, he departed, attending to his other patrons, leaving me with _two_ _free_ _mugs._

My throat had gone as dry as dirt. I couldn't believe he had just... been so nice. Now, I'm not a real sensitive guy, but I will say that Tapper's generosity touched me. He was one of the few people in my life that had treated me like that, and one of the few who would _ever _treat me in the same way. I suddenly realized that he was one of the rarities that were truthfully kind to me.

Looking from his back and to my tall, frothy root beer, I relented to my thirst and grabbed its handle with my free hand. I proposed a quiet toast. "To the pleasant things." I lifted the mug to my lips and took a swig.

Oh, _man,_ Tapper's root beer was the best. It was the perfect marriage of mouth-tantalizing creaminess and that old-fashioned root beer flavor that never ceased to please the pallet, no matter how many glasses you downed. Bubbles zipped down my throat playfully, and the foam left behind a mustache on my lip, lightening my leaden spirits. I managed a small giggle of pleasure.

I didn't hesitate to dive into my drink. "Ah... Turbo-Tastic..." I mused between gulps. "Turbo-Tastic... Yes..." I gotta tell you, that mug of soda was a mug of Heaven for me over the next several minutes. It sounds like I'm overemphasizing this, but I guarantee that you haven't known bliss until you've tasted Tapper's root beer. Barely pausing to breathe, I slurped and I slurped, careless as to whoever heard my rude noises - I didn't care in the slightest.

But sadly, it's true that good times never last; it seemed only coincidence that when I ran out of the stuff, my bliss ran out as well.

At that moment when I downed the last mouthful, another train pulled in from the station, bringing with it a second crowd. As they strode into the joint, I could hear from their many feet that this group was much larger than the one I had been in. They thunked in noisily all over the wooden planks, talking obnoxiously loud, drowning out the noise that already lingered in the bar.

I caught the ending snippets of a conversation as the first of the group came in. "...You've gotta have a pint of this stuff, Brody, it's like nothin' you've ever tasted!"

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. Tapper's brews are the best. Hands down."

The root beer on my tongue soured. I recognized those voices.

Twisting around, I found myself face-to-face with a large group of Arcade characters. At their head were Boost and Charger, and behind them I saw Paperboy, some _Dig Dug_ guys, more Street Fighters, Sonic, Princess Peach, and a whole other slew of familiar faces.

There was only one guy I didn't recognize, who was placed dead center, right between Boost and Charger.

I didn't recognize him, but I knew who he was on the spot. It was Mr. _RoadBlasters. _

The soda in my stomach stirred. Oh, I did _not_ like this.

He was too busy admiring the aesthetics of the place to notice that I was sizing him up from my stool. The _RoadBlasters _guy looked like a cross between a beach bum and a soldier in his khaki shorts, dull green sleeveless shirt, and combat boots. Despite the peace, he was well-armed: long ammunition belts were strapped across his chest, and he had a pistol fastened to his calf. His golden hair was neatly cropped, his jaw firm and powerful, and his body nothing but muscle; he had amiable brown eyes and a smile that would swoon a woman easy. I thought that Charger and Boost were tall, but this guy _eclipsed _everyone in sight, making even them look short.

Once I finished, I squinted at him. So, this was the guy, huh? The guy who had stolen my fans? my mojo? Mr. I-Can-Shoot-Junk-In-the-Road? Honestly, I hadn't pictured him like this at all; so sporty, so fit, tall, and dare I say... _cool._

I hadn't said two words to the guy, but I despised him nonetheless.

My gut wrenched; it was utterly impossible _not_ to notice how much adoration he was getting from the people at his feet. The air simply vibrated with it. They had their starry-eyed faces perpetually tilted up at him, and had all wedged themselves as close as they could without physically touching him. It seemed terribly claustrophobic. Only thing was, he didn't seem to mind the overcrowding. In fact, it looked to be that he was comfortable in it.

The rest of the bar had turned their heads to get a look at him. He raised his hand to someone across the counters, smiling some more. Ugh, I couldn't look at that blinding thing! Averting my eyes from it, I caught stares with Charger, who raised a brow and smirked in my direction. His eyes glowed with amusement.

Then and there, I wanted _so_ badly to leap up and punch him in _his_ kisser, but the _RoadBlasters _guy's size had (shamefully) frightened me out of it. I stayed put, clutching my glass to my jaw.

Charger elbowed the _RoadBlasters _guy's pocket and raised his voice. "Yo, Brody!"

So _that_ was bullet-brain's name. Huh. Mine was better. "Yeah?" Brody responded, looking down. "What's up, dude?"

I started to dislike the situation even more when Charger gestured his fingers to me. "We want you to meet somebody. C'mon over here." He pressed forward, Brody and Boost at his ankles, while the crowd of fans behind him all moved as one body. It was kind of creepy, how they moved in sync with each other.

I found myself scooting my back into the bar as if they were virus-ridden when they approached. Now up close to Brody, I felt even smaller than I did with the Twins, which really beat up my ego. On my barstool, I only came up to the middle of Brody's pants, and without it, I barely reached his _knee. _

Why had he been programmed to be so tall? It wasn't fair that a great racer such as me was so short.

Charger laid on a smile - was that smugness I detected? - and thrust his arm out, showcasing me for introductions. "Brody, this is Turbo. He's the other guy from our game."

I looked up to Brody as he loomed above me, showering me in the light of his dashing white teeth. My face twitched at them, but the guy was so jovial, he didn't even blink at my obvious disgust. I was starting to hate his physical features and his happy perfection almost as much as I hated the mechanics of his stupid, explosion-riddled game.

When he spoke, his voice was youthful and spunky; a fun-loving personality infused with that of a daredevil. "So, you're Turbo! Hey there, pal. I've heard so much about you from the Twins. I'm Brody, from _RoadBlasters, _as you probably already know. Nice to finally meet ya!" He held out his hand, ready to start a friendship that I would _never _let happen.

My gaze unmoving from his face, I kept my free hand in my lap. My fingers curled in on themselves into a loose fist. "Yeah, real nice," I muttered, my voice as flat as a pancake. "Welcome, welcome, _pal."_

Ohh, you should have seen the looks I got from the people in front of me. They were incredible. They ranged from either horror to sheer hatred at my conduct, some of them blank while others were caustic. Charger's was one of the caustic ones - his could have blown a hole in my head if he wanted it to; Boost's white skin flushed whiter, and he looked sick; Brody, on the other hand, was perturbed at my attitude, while looking hurt at the same time. I had totally crushed him.

He slowly lowered his hand into his side, his dark eyes troubled with confusion. "Oh. Er, thanks, Turbo."

"Huh. Don't you mention it." I scowled into anyone who dared meet my eyes, growing tired of my company already. I nearly screamed at them to scram, but I found that I didn't have the energy to. Any energy I had had lost its potency in the presence of Brody. He wasn't worth my time.

I leaned casually into the counter, one elbow on it to balance my ice-mug against my face. Instead of flying off my handle, as hard to resist as it was, I took the dignified approach, saying, "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my evening, thank you very much."

Swiveling on my stool, I turned my back on them. I hunkered over the tabletop, refusing to talk to any of them, those traitors. After all, more than half of the group had been _my_ fans before friendly-fire here swept them off their feet. Those petty, two-faced cretins. They were just as bad as those gamers.

I felt their presence linger behind me for several moments before someone piped up, "C'mon, guys, let's go get a root beer." A sequence of approvals sounded from others, and they all scooted off as a group again, headed towards an empty bar far away from mine. From the corner of my eye, I took note that they were at least fifteen-people strong, all cluttered around Brody like a group of puppies.

_Those idiots. What do they see in him?_

When they were gone, I went to take another drink from my glass, but remembered with a grumble that it was empty. While blankly peering into it, I suddenly took notice that something was bothering me: there was one person who had remained, who I could feel standing mutely at my back.

Readjusting my helmet, I asked them, "What do you want?"

Without a word, the person came forward and sat themselves neatly in the barstool to my left. They had cobalt blue sleeves and a pair of white racing gloves on, which they wrung together nervously. For a moment I thought it was Charger, but before I could shoot up to clobber him, he spoke.

His voice was soft. "How's your jaw?" Boost asked.

I snorted. "What's it to you, huh?"

When I twisted my head to him, I found his gaze on me to be paralyzing, and he held me firm in it. "What's it to me?" he repeated. "Contrary to what you might think, Turbo, I don't agree with Charger sometimes." Boost focused on his brother across the bar, who was ordering a drink for Brody. It seemed that Charger had asserted himself as newbie's best friend.

Boost's eyes held something similar to disapproval. "We clash; he can be a bit of a hothead. He shouldn't have acted the way he did, tonight."

I replied, with sarcasm gushing from my tone, _"Really?_ Is that a fact? Well, what made him think that punching me was a good idea?!"

Boost rapped his fingertips on the tabletop, his face shadowed. "Charger was upset... He wasn't thinking straight and let things get out of control. And it wasn't just on the track, either, he was acting strange all day long... I have no idea why..." He paused and blinked back his thoughts, turning his eyes on my jaw. "He shouldn't have hit you, and I'm sorry about that. Really, I am. But, you weren't helping his cause with what you said, either." His voice faltered a bit. "Some of it was pretty hurtful."

In a flare of defiance, I poised to speak, but he cut me off and kept going. "I can see it in your face: you're angry with him, and _RoadBlasters,_ and the sudden change with the fans and everything. It's hard, I get it. I've felt... _off, _too, ever since closing time, but-"

"What's your point?" I spat, trying to get a read on him.

He visibly struggled for words, picking them carefully before saying them aloud. He thought for a few moments before he finally remarked, "Look, none of this is working out for any of us. All this tension... All I'm saying is you can't go blaming this whole chain of events on my brother or Brody."

My face contorted. Was he pointing fingers at ME? What in the world did _I_ do wrong? I was only telling the truth, and they should have accepted that without protest. Forget what he said earlier. None of this - my job, my jaw, stupid Brody, that jerk Charger - would have gone wrong if everyone had known their place in the Arcade and stuck with it.

Was _I _impeding on someone else's job? No! Had _I _gone crazy with jealousy and lashed out? Don't you think for one second that I did! Why was he giving _me_ the talking-to when the real people who needed it were Brody and Charger?

I was nothing but a victim to it all. Why didn't he see that? Why didn't _anyone _see that? It was maddening, how oblivious they all were.

"Do you get it?" Boost continued. His gaze was earnest. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

He waited for me to reply, but I didn't answer his question. I knew he wouldn't accept the truth, just like his good-for-nothing sibling. Instead, I proposed, "You tell me something, Boost. Is this all you came over here for? To get me to realize the 'error' of my ways and play nice with the kids?" His nostrils flared. "'Cause if that's all, you might as well join RoadBozo's fan club-"

Without warning, Boost slammed his fists onto the tabletop and shouted, "DANG IT, TURBO, I'M WORRIED ABOUT YOU!"

I jumped so hard, I dropped my mug, where it shattered on the floor in a thousand pieces. Dozens of sets of eyes snapped toward the noise, spotlighting Boost and me - the former buried his eyes in his hand in frustration. The crash was magnificent - it stopped all conversation and_ Tapper _went as quiet as a morgue. Even the music stopped.

The following silence was quite stifling. I guess it _had_ to be stifling in a game where one broken glass cost you a life.

_Aw, man... _Thanks to Boost, I had just smashed a once-in-a-lifetime free glass from Tapper. As a swell of humiliation fell over me, the tender appeared in a flash. Literally, he just sort of came into being there at Boost's shoulder.

Looking over him, Tapper winced. He gave a downcast sigh, frowning into the remains of the glass jug and the ice. "Now that's a shame," he mourned, playing with the rag in his hands. "I really liked that mug."

Tapper had been so nice before, and now that I had repaid him by breaking his free offer, I wanted to streak out of the place and never come back again. I clutched my shredded collar, my face burning under the bar's heavy gazes as I said tinily, "Sorry, Tapper..."

"'Was my fault," Boost added, his face still hidden.

Tapper pursed his lips, wiping his hand along his waistcoat as if making sure he was actually there. His voice was surprisingly light. "Eh, don't fret over it too much, boys. It'll regenerate in the morning... like that extra life... Just uh, watch your step until that degenerates, okay?" He then left us, not bothering to ask if I wanted a replacement.

It took several minutes for the rest of the bar to return to their own conversations and leave us be. I was one to like attention, but that was pushing it a little.

I looked to Boost. I hadn't expected him to flare up like that. In all the years I had worked with the guy, I had seen him annoyed and sad, but there were two emotions I had never seen on him before: happiness and rage. I got my first look into Boost's anger the moment his shout jolted my heart.

"Y-you're _what?" _I said.

"I'm worried about you!" he repeated, peeking at me from between his fingers. "Your behavior today was completely uncalled for, and I'm worried that you don't understand what's at stake for us. I mean, racing used to be fun and games, but now it's a BATTLEFIELD between you and Charger! A-and with Brody now involved?" Boost's body shuddered at whatever was playing in his head, his breath shaking. "Man... If things around here continue the way they are now, we're _all_ going under."

I tried make sense of what he was saying. I had never in my wildest dreams seen the possibility of Litwak unplugging _TurboTime. _I was too popular for that! I had gotten him too much money for that! How could he even consider doing such a thing to his star game?

The concept of unplugging my game was profoundly impossible and surreal to me - it couldn't be done. My face drew itself blank at the concept. "Wait... Under... as in... _unplugged?" _I nearly gagged on the word._ "_Wha...? How could you...?"

Boost's grave expression was enough to signify that he believed the impossible could become possible: that _RoadBlasters _would take over my role as Arcade-favorite and boot me out of the spotlight. That thought was nothing short of cataclysmic, and my stomach dropped a good couple of feet.

Uncontrollable fear consumed me. I desperately pushed the thoughts away as they attempted to creep in. "That's never gonna happen, Boost," I hurriedly said, my voice taking on some vibrato. _"RoadBlasters _can't replace me - it never WILL replace me! I'll always be the best, and that's that! Brody can't match me!"

As I stuttered on, I had a feeling, far back in my mind, that I was reassuring myself, instead of him. He was unfazed.

Boost's focus on me was so intense, I got goosebumps, and I shuddered to my core. His large, yellow eyes remained unblinking. "You sure?" he thrummed, his voice haunting. "'Cause now that your reputation's been bruised, I'm starting to have my doubts."

His words should have made me mad, but I found myself terrified. My hand flew to the chilled, blackened skin of my jaw, covering the mark from view. I watched him, disturbed, choking down the world-shattering notions of unplugging that were gnawing at my sanity.

My brain was jamming itself into desolation. _TurboTime... out of order? RoadBlasters... taking my fame? Those gamers... not playing _my_ game? No more trophies, no more finish lines, no more fans, no more admiration... no more_ Turbo.

"No. No, no, no," I rambled, my eyes widening, my heart beginning to sprint. "Litwak - Charger - unh, Brody-?" I had no idea what nonsense I was spewing as I my newly-sprung horrors infested my thoughts, encircling me, preventing me from thinking of anything else. I couldn't escape. My darkest fears became living nightmares before me in such ghastly-high definition they were freakishly real.

And I say _freakishly _as profoundly as possible. As my imaginations played out, they were so real to me in fact, that my throat tightened till breathing became difficult and I got severely lightheaded; I swayed on my stool. My palms were in all reality _pumping_ out sweat while my blood shot through my veins like lightning, and my stomach heaved till I was on the verge of vomiting.

It was bad. It was _really _bad. And it all came without warning, too - like a flash flood. I almost drowned in it all, myself, nearly succumbing to the possible future.

You think you're ready for this? I certainly wasn't. I'd buckle up, if I were you.

Man, I can retell it as vividly as if I were still on my stool next to Boost... The bar in front of me blurred away to make room for my nightmares, which immediately began to roll like a horror film.

I suddenly found myself standing in a corner, staring blankly ahead into darkness. It was so dark, I hardly recognized where I was at first, but after my eyes adjusted, I realized that I was standing in Litwak's. But it was a different place: a heavy sense of stagnancy drooped the air, and the windows leading to the parking lot beyond were dim. The place was unnervingly quiet and still - not a single thing made noise or moved in the slightest way, which was unnatural for a usually-lively Arcade. The stillness had my skin itching beneath my clothes.

Forcing myself to dismiss it, I reverted my attention from the dreary atmosphere and to the room itself. The lights were all off, the place smelled musty, and the carpet was threadbare in some spots. After briefly identifying the boxy silhouettes surrounding me, I discovered that for some reason, all of the game consoles had been pushed up against the walls, and that they, too, were lifeless and silent. Looking around further, I also noticed, with a slash of disturbance, that each of the black screens were facing a single console in the heart of the room... as if they were watching it.

Squinting around the odd arrangement, a shiver sped through every inch of my body. I clutched at my collar with an audible gulp, which disrupted the crushing silence.

Everything about this was wrong.

What was going on? Where was everybody? Why were all of the consoles placed like that? And _which _console was in the middle, exactly? I tried to make it out from my place, but it was nothing but a grey splotch against the black.

As a random, cold breeze whispered over my neck, I backed a few steps away from the eerie console. Due to my focus on it, I hadn't expected anything but the wall to be behind me - I about leapt out of my jumpsuit the moment my back hit something freezing. I let out a panicked gasp before whirling around in a single jump, hopping face-to-face with the thing I had hit. Peering through the thick shadows, I gazed up into the figure looming above me.

Fear spiked inside of me, as I had anticipated some evil creature to be prowling my back, but to my slight relief, it was just another console. However, it wasn't just _any _console: this console bore a familiar steering wheel beneath its screen, singling it out from the others equipped with joysticks. For a moment, I thought I was facing stupid _RoadBlasters, _but as the lights of the Arcade subtly brightened, I saw the console in better detail.

The console in front of me... was _TurboTime._

Only, it _wasn't_ _TurboTime _the way that I knew it. No, the _TurboTime _before me wasn't triumphant with success and fans - it was gloomy with loneliness and dejection. A thick layer of dust coated each one of its surfaces, and its screen was blank, cracked, and marked by a hideous orange OUT OF ORDER slip. My eyes stung as the color seared its way into my retinas.

For some illogical reason, my console had been shoved into the furthest corner of the Arcade, where it sat alone and unloved behind the others. As I ran up and down its battered metal frame with my eyes, I noticed a long, grey cable coiling along the dingy carpet, which had been out of its socket for much too long.

My mouth gaped open like a pit as I stared at the abandoned console, frozen from shock._ What? What... happened to me...? _I rasped, my breathing shallow from my constricted throat. _What happened? WHAT HAPPENED?!_ _My game... My home... UNPLUGGED!? What...?!_

I could hardly stand to look at my failed legacy, since the sight had my rapidly-sickening stomach in a frenzy. I tried to pull my eyes away, but I found with an onslaught of dismay that I couldn't - the dead screen and the OUT OF ORDER slip were holding me in a grip as tight as a hairpin turn, and they were _not _about to let me go. The ruined game seemed to grow in size, threatening to swallow me whole.

_ This can't be happening! No! _I struggled against it and my oncoming queasiness as much as I could, but this wasn't the end of it. No, this was only the beginning of worse things to come - things that would have me cowering like a child from their vividness and potential.

As I stood there, sick and trembling before my ruined _TurboTime_, I was blinded by the Arcade lights when they suddenly beamed, flushing out everything in a kaleidoscope of brilliantly-painful colors. I pinched my eyes shut and threw my hands onto my face, grunting against the searing flash. _ARGH! _The sudden illumination somehow freed my limbs from their numbness - I stumbled back from my game without a clue as to where I was going in the multi-colored void.

The lights were so intense that they literally burned my skin for several moments. But before I could comprehend the situation, the lights inexplicably cooled, fading to bearable levels just as quickly as they came on.

My skin was tingling in the aftermath, with my mind running in circles trying to figure out what had just happened. Had something gone off? Was there a power surge? But the moment I tried to think, my ears strained to hear that the silence that had dominated the Arcade prior had mysteriously gone.

The air around me was now humid and buzzing with voices - whispers and murmurs crackled excitedly through the atmosphere. As I listened while my eyes recovered, I found that I couldn't understand anything that was being said - it was all a bunch of senseless gibberish. Puzzled, I lowered my hands and slowly parted my eyelids to investigate.

When I did so, I was greeted by an astonishing sight: there were people _everywhere. _Scratch that, there were _kids _everywhere - the Arcade was positively teeming with them. They had come out of nowhere, and were crammed together into the joint as closely as possible, rubbing elbows, stepping on toes, their chins practically on each others' shoulders. Even though I was about their size, the vast majority of them towered above my helmet. They had inadvertently imprisoned me between them with their arrival, barring me between their pant legs.

I fidgeted around, elbowing their knees and shouting, but any attention I tried to gain from them went unnoticed. Craning my head up with a huff, I watched the kids closest to me, only then noticing that their faces were lit up pale blue on one side, their eyes glassy, their smiles faint.

_...Huh? _With some additional search, I found with a crinkling of my brows that most of them had their backs toward me. I briefly wondered what they were looking at before I heard the 8-bit humming of an engine and the spotty gunfire beneath their noise.

My heart slowed to a dying crawl, my blood stalling; cold fangs sunk into my skin, frosting my muscles. My lungs crippled and fatally stifled my breathing; icy sweat spilled from my helmet and down my face.

Then I knew it.

I knew it even before the crowd lazily parted a clear line of sight for me, opening an aisle straight to the heart of the Arcade. I knew it even before I was washed with pallid blue light, and before I was head-to-head with the only console in the room that was functioning.

I knew it even before I watched the console consume change by the dollar from its mob of desperate fans, who were lining up beyond the Arcade and into the parking lot outside. And I knew it even before the meaningless words of the kids warped into whispers of _RoadBlasters, RoadBlasters, RoadBlasters_ that scorched their way into my brain like hot coals.

Oh, boy, did I know it. And knowing _it _utterly impaled me clean through.

My throne of popular superiority had been usurped by an upgraded pretender, snatched a souped up thief, assumed by a high-score temptation. Boost had guessed it, Charger had mentioned it, and Brody had fulfilled it.

_RoadBlasters _had taken my place, and Turbo, the racing giant, was no more.

And I could barely breathe.

**And... CUT! Hoo, boy! What'd you think? **

**Oh, Turbo! I love him and I hate him. That awesome little jerk! **

**I had some fun with his hallucination scene; I kinda wanted to freak you guys out. Did it work? I'll add more to it next chapter, so, stay tuned! :D**

**Well, I'm not very chatty tonight, so feel free to shoot me a review! I love reading those, and they're good fuel to keep me writing. Once again, I have Disney to thank for such an awesome movie as _Wreck-It Ralph! _It's my total obsession. Yay!**

**Stay Turbo-Tastic, my friends!**


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